Where Was I?

file0001903436088 (1)I don’t think it’s dementia, I don’t think it’s ADD, and I don’t think I’m alone. It’s just life. We’re busy with a looooonnnng list of to-do’s (if not on paper, then banging around in our heads). Add in human nature (avoidance) and social media, and you’ve got the perfect setting for an hour of disjointed distractions.

Here’s a sample of such an hour in my life. As you can see, it always starts with the best of intentions.

  1. Coffee and Facebook. Need to wake up and see who needs prayers and whose kids are most successful. Then I’ll write.
  2. Realize I could use my time more effectively if I started a load of laundry.DSCN7331
  3. Find I’m low on Spray and Wash, look through the cabinets to find the refill jug and discover some lavender sachets I forgot I had. I need to put them in my closet.
  4. See my overstuffed closet and acknowledge I can’t fit into most of the clothes anymore, so decide to donate to charity. Pull out half the clothes, stacking them on my bed. Remember I’m not alone.
  5. Go through everyone else’s closets, creating piles of clothes throughout the house. Accept it’s a bigger load than I thought. Decide to see which charity is doing curbside pickup in the next week.
  6. Get back on the laptop, stopping to recharge coffee, and start the search for charities.
  7. Spend twenty minutes watching videos from various charitable organizations,
    going from one clip to another. Choose to ignore that Heifer International probably doesn’t want my 1980’s clothes and keep watching because they do such meaningful work.Cow
  8. Keep clicking from clip to clip. End up on Angelina Jolie. Then Brad and Angelina. Then the latest Hollywood breakups. Then the greatest Hollywood couples of all time.

My stomach growls, reminding me I need to eat. I get up, breaking my Google fog and look around. It’s been more than an hour, my house is covered with piles of dirty clothes and clothes to be donated, I haven’t started writing, and I suddenly feel a need to nap. On the upside, it looks like Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward had a strong marriage.paul-newman-and-joanne-woodward-young

Photo Credits: Signs by wedhatted; Laundry by pippalou; Cow by anusharaji; Paul and Joanne from silvervelvetsky.wordpress.com
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Getting Old Is A “Beep”

Clock by CrassLast night, as I was hugging my son goodnight, he shared, “You’re skin used to be softer.” Love you too, darling! But he’s not alone. A while back, my daughter walked in after I’d stepped out of the shower, catching an eye-full of my backside. Her comment, “Oh, Momma.” And it wasn’t a, “Oh, Momma, we need to start walking.” No, this was more like, “Oh, Momma, I’m so sorry you lost your leg in the war.”

When my husband turned fifty, I made a horror film for him. (Camp Reformation – went straight to DVD). At the end, the killer is revealed. She wears a sweatshirt marked “50.” When her twin (the non-evil one) asks her why she’s murdered all the teenage campers, the psycho explains, “Because getting old is a bitch!”Camp Reformation

Oh, I thought that was a great line at the time (I was forty-two.) Turns out…not so funny. Truth never is.

Yes, from an emotional standpoint, aging is a wonderful thing. You’ve lived through enough experiences to know that life is cyclical, that there are tough patches, but they will pass. You begin to understand what’s worth arguing about or accepting and moving on. You look at supposedly mundane activities – the family sitting around the table, eating spaghetti and not arguing – and realize it’s a special moment.

But the physical side is harsh. As my daughter made VERY clear, hineys do not age like fine wine. Now, when my peers talk about their implants, they’re referring to dental work, which is probably for the best. Let’s face it, at a certain point, breast augmentations are a little ridiculous. I mean if you take an old, sagging pillow case filled with flour, then add a grapefruit, is it really going to look any better?

Fortunately, I’ve been blessed with a wonderful husband that eases the pain of this downhill journey. Maybe he’s delusional or just a very smart man, but he Spectaclesstill tells me I have a great body. Of course, there’s also the fact that he’s legally blind without his glasses. Doesn’t really matter. As long as those babies come off before I put on the Barry White, I can put JLo to shame.

“Spectacles” courtesy of Kenn W. Kiser. Clock photo by crass,